Late Nights
by alyssialui
Summary: Draco and Hermione's marriages are rocky and happen to meet up at a bar one night. Their late night meetings turn into an affair which threatens to destroy their marraiges all together. AU. Some OOC. Not Dramione! but still give it a chance please. COMPLETED!
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Draco and Hermione's marriages are rocky and they begin to have an affair to find a release. This is not a Dramione as it was originally intended to be. So if this was what you were looking for turn back. __Read & Review. Check out my other fics._

_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter_

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With one last thrust, Draco finds his release in the woman lying under him. They both let out one last sigh today as he rolls off her. Draco stares up at the ceiling panting as the girl's messy brown hair tickles his face. She grabs at her locks, pulling her hair to lie under her head. She leans over the bed and grabs a cigarette and her lighter. In one swift motion, fumes are wafting from the end of the stick as she takes in a long drag. Draco can see the wisps of smoke spiral up to the ceiling as the smell replaces the smell of sex in the room.

After every night with her, he always wonders how it got this far. The two of them were unhappy in their marriages, that was for sure. And they weren't getting much better based on the increased frequency of these type of nights.

They had just been sitting at a bar like old friends, and downing a few too many drinks. Eventually the conversation strayed to their failing marriages. Then after one long look, their lips met in a sloppy kiss. They then stumbled blindly to the nearest inn and woke up the next morning in each others arms.

They should have stopped after that night, just gone back to their lives. But now walls were broken. They found solace and comfort in each other and a way to just forget. So they continued their meetings, in the same inn as on the first night.

The girl exhales into the air and then offers the cancer stick to Draco. Taking it gingerly, he balances it between his lips and breathes in. He still isn't used to the way it coats his tongue but he takes a few more puffs before he feeling the rush from the addicting drug. He only started because of her, this is what she did after every session too.

They never really speak afterwards, just lying down to come off the high, deaf to the silence as they are both focused in their own worlds. This leaves Draco to think about his wife. Pansy used to wonder where he went on these nights but after awhile she just stopped asking. No one wanted to say anything about the affair but they both knew. And they both just pretended nothing was wrong. He wonders what the girl tells her husband, but it wasn't that type of relationship that he could ask.

The bed shifts as the girl rises from the bed. He flinches as the cool air touches his exposed skin. He turns eyes towards the clock on the night table - 3:30. She moves around the room picking up her dress that he had just torn off her an hour ago. She mutters to herself, "Ron will be waking up soon", while slipping her earrings back into her ears.

He watches her silently from the bed, nodding slightly while he finishes the cigarette. Slipping on her shoes, she heads towards the door. While walking through the doorframe, she calls out "Goodnight Draco."

Into the empty room, he whispers, "Goodnight Hermione."


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: I realized that I could make another chapter based on Ron's view. __As usual, Read and Review._

_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter._

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There is a light patter of footsteps on the hardwood floor. She thinks he is a heavy sleeper but he had learnt how to fake it since he noticed her late night rendezvous. He knew for a long time that she was meeting up with a man in the night but he had been holding back on confronting her, cautious to upset anything. She already thought he was hot-tempered, but when it came to some things, he knew how to take his time.

She slips in through their bedroom door. He sees her outline against the wall he is facing, the small amount of light behind her blurring the edges. She cannot see his face. There was a sharp inhale, probably of relief since he is still 'asleep', before she runs into the bathroom joined to their room.

His thoughts drift over the other nights she has disappeared from their bed. The jealousy wells up in his stomach as he thinks about what she had been doing just hours before, just she was doing all those nights before. He takes a calming breath. Jealousy would drive a man to his death, a long walk on a short plank.

He rolls over onto his back, replaying the memory of _that_ night on the ceiling. After he had felt her weight lifting from the bed, he followed behind her. He was curious and jealous. Maybe this was the time for confrontation, confronting the two of them. How could a man feel good about himself as he slept with another man's wife?

He saw her enter the inn and walk up to the man. Her fingers entwined in the man's blond hair as they almost swallowed each other. Ron almost left right then and there. He couldn't bear to watch, but it was a like a train wreck. He wanted to see it play out, to see if this story really had a tragic ending.

He ducked out of sight as they walked up flight of stairs to his right. He followed them silently and reached the landing just before seeing his wife drag the man into the room by his tie, her mouth on his again.

He ran up to the door, managing to stop it from closing completely. He took a deep breath, preparing himself for what he would see. He was ready to shout, ready to scream, ready to fight. Peaking through the crack, he froze and just stared.

The couple was too caught up in each other to notice the sliver of light coming from the hallway. The blond man nuzzled into his wife's neck, sucking on it lightly and a soft moan escaped her lips. He couldn't remember the last time he made her make such a wanting and impatient sound.

There was a quick removal of the red dress he remembered her wearing a couple Valentine's ago and the man's shirt became unbuttoned. She was running her hands over his chest as he continued attending to her neck.

All of the steam left Ron and was replaced with a feeling of nausea and disgust. He couldn't go in there now. He felt his stomach roll as she pulled the man over to the bed and he fell on top of her. His hands travelled up her legs as she gripped at the man's hair.

He quickly ran away from the door, away from his cheating wife, away from that heartless man and away from the inn. He couldn't sleep, switching from pacing to broodingly staring at their front door. He had a mixed feeling of anger, anxiety and dread. He didn't know what he'd do when she got home. He ended up feeling so sick he went back to their shared room.

He fell back into bed staring at the wall. _**They're probably done by now if I know how long it takes her to finish with me.**_ He could see them laying in the bed, sweaty, panting, their clothes strewn on the floor. For some reason, he placed them smoking even though he knew she didn't smoke. **_Must be all those muggle shows she makes me watch._** He finally exhausted himself and was lost in horrible dreams.

The sounds in the bathroom stop and she re-enters their bedroom stopping mid-step when she sees him staring into the space above him.

"Oh Ron! Uhh... I didn't know you were awake," she whispers. He hears something in her voice, fear? uncertainty? he isn't sure. He doesn't really want to know.

"Couldn't sleep," he replies gruffly. He refuses to look at her, looking would make this whole thing real. But he loves to torture himself. His eyes slowly drift towards her.

She doesn't look different than she usually does, but her neck and shoulder are littered with small, dark spots. But what does he know? It is kinda dark. He doesn't want to know the truth.

She feels his stare, and probably out of guilt, she stammers out, "I-I- just had to go to the bathroom. Ummm- had to pee." She walks over to the bed and pulls back the covers on her side. Ron remains on his back, not wanting to listen to her excuses any more.

She snuggles into his side and murmurs into his ear, "Go back to sleep, Ron." He almost shivers at the feeling of her breath on his skin. The same breath she just expended into a dimly-lit hotel room. He rolls out of her grasp to face away from her. She sighs and turns away from him as well.

This conversation will take place some time, but not tonight. Someone will eventually speak up.

_**The only good thing that may come out of this would be to just end this game we're playing.**_


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: I got a couple reviews asking for more, so I thought up one more chapter. This one from Pansy's view._

_Read and Review. Check out my other fics as well. That would be greatly appreciated._

_Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter franchise._

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Pansy can hear the squeak of the taps in the shower from her position on the couch. Her husband had probably forgotten to lock the bedroom door before heading to the bathroom.

Pansy silently fumes, ruffling her magazine a little harder than was necessary, trying to focus on the words in front of her, but the sound of the running water kept drawing her attention to the person under it.

They had just had another argument. It was over something very stupid - the shoes near the front door. Apparently it was her job to make sure they didn't pile up, he almost stumbled on one! Can you imagine? Pansy shouted back that they were mostly his shoes, so he should try to put them away as he takes them off. This back and forth eventually led to an all-out brawl, cursing each other's person, parents and grandparents, throw in a great-aunt for good measure. He had stormed off not too long ago to cool off.

Pansy can't take the sound any more and gets out of the couch ready to shut that blasted door. She reaches their bedroom. ready to draw up the door, when she sees his cellphone light up on the bed. He had gotten the phone in order to interact with his muggle associates. They were big contributors to the business.

Pansy can't say she isn't curious. She had this suspicious feeling every time he picked up the phone. She saw the way he would look at his phone expectantly as it got later in the night, saw him rub his pocket subconsciously whenever they argued. _**He must have a mistress or something.**_ Pansy felt she was right but she never got a response when she asked. Just more arguments and she definitely tired of those. _**With how much he avoids the subject, then it must be true.**_

But now, with the illuminated screen nestled in their bedsheets lying out in the open, she could answer her own questions right now. But is she ready for the answer? What would she do then? She would have to confront it now, come face to face with her broken marriage. Could she do that now?

Pansy enters the room, her curiosity winning over her caution. She picks up the phone gingerly, scared it would almost burn her because it knew she was not its owner. She focuses on the name on the screen, "Herm-"

The bathroom door opens and her husband stands in the doorway. She hadn't even heard when the shower stopped. He stares between her and the phone in her hand, his mouth slightly open, at first looking pale but then turning bright red. He closes the distance between them in two quick strides, his towel hanging dangerously low around his waist, and grabs the phone out of her trembling fingers. He scans the name on the screen himself and then turns on her.

He hisses, "What did you see?"

Pansy freezes up under his murderous glare. She had never seen him this angry before. She had some proof now. She could say something right now. But his gaze burns her, she feels herself shrivelling up like a raisin in the sun. She lets out a small eek before looking down.

He roughly grabs her hands and then says coolly, his eyes still piercing her, "Pansy, darling what did you see?"

Pansy would be lying if she said she wasn't scared. She remains silent, pursing her lips, but she knows this is actually upsetting him more.

He drops her hands suddenly and takes a deep breath, collecting himself. He looks back at the phone and reads the message. He then turns away from his wife, looking through his drawers for some clothes. With finality he says, "I'm going out."

Pansy's tears fall and she finds her voice. The anger boils within her and she shouts, "Oh you're going to your whore now?" Pansy almost grabs at her mouth, surprised she even said that.

Her husband had just pulled on some underwear and a pair of pants before he looks at her, also surprised she had even said anything. He comes up close to her face again and she shrinks, trying to sneak towards the door in case she needed to get away.

He tugs on his shirt and then smiles at her. This smile was ugly and Pansy can't remember why she married this horrible excuse for a man. He calmly says, "And what if I am?" Before she can blink, there was a pop and Pansy was alone in their bedroom.


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: This story's getting interesting. Really feeling like going further. Mind at a block now of how I want it to end though, because I didn't really plan on it to go very far. We'll see. As usual, read and review. Check out my other stories._

_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter._

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The sheets have somehow pooled onto the floor but Hermione's mind is no longer tethered to the Earth. It seems like with every thrust, it floats higher and higher, hitting the ceiling in an effort to escape. Their breaths come out in ragged gasps, almost in sync, like the soundtrack to this fast-paced show.

She arches her back as his hands move from her shoulders, across her breast and down to rest on her hips. His hands are calloused but move with dexterity. He always made her feel better, always made her feel sexy, always made her feel desired. She doesn't want to feel anything else. She doesn't want to feel remorse, regret, bitterness. She wants this release.

He starts to move faster in her, pushing as if he would break her like a china doll. But she's had this before. She's a big girl. She handles it like pro, like she had done every time.

She's on the brink, trying to hold on this feeling of bliss and detachment, not ready to return to Earth. But he whispers into her ear, "Let. Go." It comes out in sharp gasps. That's what she's trying to do - let go of her life. But his voice spurs her on and she finds her release, tightening around him. He rides her through it, soon letting out his own loud groan into the room.

They are both panting now, exhausted, their senses crashing down on them. Her mind falls back into her head, chained back into its cage. It's over.

He rolls off her and onto his side of the bed. Not ready to give up her high, she reaches over to her cigarettes again. _**Nasty habit.**_

She can hear his deep breathing next to her in the bed. She can't remember how many times she's heard the after effects of their sessions but she knows it's too many. The guilty thoughts are already coming back to her. She takes a long drag, fighting them away.

His voice breaks the silence, "Pansy knows."

Hermione's eyebrows rise. She knew of his wife, but he never really spoke of her. They kept this relationship as separated as possible. She looks towards the night table wear his ring rests on top of hers. She almost laughs, bands united as one but apart from their true match.

She pulls in again, blowing out the smoke in a slow breath. "I see." She says no more. She wants to hear what he's thinking. But he remains still, the silence stretching out between them. He rises from the room and looks for his boxers from under the muddled sheet. He focuses on his search, not wanting to continue this train of thought. And she lets him.

Once clothed, he leaves her in the dull and drab room. Pulling one last drag, she stubs the cigarette out in the ashtray. _**I guess that's that.**_


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: Teehee. Now we get to see other people pouring into the story. It's Draco's best buddy, Blaise, trying to get Draco to get his life together._

_Read and review. Check out my other fics._

_Disclaimer: I own nothing Harry Potter._

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Blaise returns from work to find a drunken blonde still sprawled across his living room couch. He frowns, thinking that the man would have left his flat while he was out.

Blaise puts down his work things and takes off his jacket. He gingerly walks over to the couch, avoiding the blonde man's carelessly discarded shoes and pants. Blaise is lucky his friend decided to wear underwear. Holding back the shudder at that thought, Blaise picks up the upturned glass and the half-drunk bottle of alcohol.

Blaise sniffs the bottle and scrunches his nose. _**Oh no, he went into my good stuff. **_He looks back at his friend, _**He's not gonna wake up for awhile then based on how much he drank.**_ But Blaise needed his flat back.

Blaise loves his bachelor life and the freedom it brings, never envying his friend for marrying his school-sweetheart. But as evident by the unconscious body in his living room, it wasn't all gumdrops and butterflies.

Before grabbing for the bottle of FireWhiskey he rummaged through Blaise's cabinets for, the blonde man had come in solemn. A quiet anger was simmering under his calm exterior.

When he had imbibed enough alcohol, Blaise was ready for the eruption. His friend was an angry drunk. But it surprised Blaise when his friend almost broke down in tears. That's how Blaise knew this was serious.

He muttered something about a text and a fight with his wife. He didn't mention what happened between the fight and his arrival, but Blaise knew enough. Although he wasn't married, things like this happened to him before, one time even with a couple of sisters. But back to his friend.

A loud snort comes out of the sleeping man's mouth and a thin line of drool joins the patch on the pillow under his head. Blaise has had enough. He roughly shakes the sleeping man. Wide eyed, the man jumps up almost slugging Blaise in the face.

"What the hell, man?" the startled man shouts.

Blaise calmly replies, "You need to get out of here, man. You need to set things right."

The man runs his hand through his hair, "It's not that easy Blaise. This changes a lot. Before, we skirted around the topic. And now it's all in the open. I practically told her I was sleeping out."

Blaise picks up the man's pants and throws it at him, "Hey, I love you and all, but I'm not going to baby you today. You need to get out of here. I can't have you crashing here and contaminating my couch. You should have had this conversation months ago. Now it's biting you in the arse."

The blonde slips on the pants, then his shoes. "I know, I know," he says waving off his friend. He stands up woozily, Blaise almost reaching out to steady him. "Just hold on a sec."

The man pulls out his cellphone and begins tapping out a message. Upon completion, he puts his phone away and looks back at his friend, "Now it's time to face the music."

Blaise claps a hand on the blonde man's shoulder. He can practically see clouds of alcohol coming through the man's pore. "Yes you do. But first, freshen up."

The blonde man gives him a dry smirk before walking to Blaise's fireplace.

"Malfoy Flat," the blonde shouts as he is swallowed by the green flames.


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: Harry comforts Ron. There's gonna be a couple blow ups soon. :D Won't that be fun._

_Thank you to all my reviewers for reviewing, especially **LadiePhoenix007. **I always look forward to them and hope you'll stick with me through to the end._

_As always, read and review. Check out my other fics. And __I do not own Harry Potter._

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Harry pops into his best friend's home this evening hoping for a quick scrimmage to find the house empty. The house is dark except for the twilight spilling through the forgotten living room window. A warm breeze blows through the house, an eerie sound moving through the passageways.

He calls out into room, "Ron? Hermione?"

He hears a small sound, a whimper, coming from the direction of the couple's bedroom. Harry walks towards the room, his broom leaving a dusty trail behind him on the hardwood floor.

He peeks his head in to see a mop of red-hair resting on a pillow. Harry flips on the light and the red-haired man instinctively reaches his hand up to shield his eyes. A low groan is released from the body in the bed.

"Ron, what are you doing in bed? Where's Hermione?" Harry inquires.

The man groans, hiding his face from the light and his best friend's concerned expression. "If you don't see her outside, I have no idea where she is."

Harry comes into the room and sits on the edge of the bed, causing the red-haired man to rock slightly from his weight.

Harry continues, "Still doesn't explain why you're lying in bed."

The man moves his arm slightly to look at his friend and then says cryptically, "What would you do it someone you loved, loved someone else?"

Harry looks into his friend's face. They had talked about this before, indirectly and always changing the topic quickly to avoid going any deeper. No one wanted to dwell on those thoughts. But the serious look on his friend's face told Harry that this conversation was going to uncover a lot.

Harry said, "That's where you think she is?"

His friend's voice is barely a whisper in the empty room, "I have no idea. She usually leaves in the night."

Harry turns to his friend, pulling him up by the arm. His friend's eyes have long adjusted to the light, his arm only shielding him as if it would protect him from having this conversation. But he know he must face it. He slowly takes his arm out of his face.

Harry asks, "Did something specific happen last night?"

His friend gulps, putting his head down, "She came in, and I was laying down facing away. And she just dropped into the bed. She reeked of alcohol and cigarette butts. I could hear her sobbing, feel the bed shake. But what was I supposed to do? Comfort her because her boyfriend probably broke up with her? I had to control myself to just ignore it and lay there, say nothing and feign ignorance.

She got up sometime around 10 this morning and walked out. Just like that. I've been in bed thinking and waiting. But No calls, no messages, no nothing."

Harry can see the tears that threaten to fall from his best mate's eyes as the reality of the situation crashes down on him.

Harry offers, "You need to talk it out and get all these feelings out of the way. If anything, it will bring closure and you guys can move away from this."

His friend suddenly looks him straight in the face. "Harry I love this girl. I married her because I love her. Even through all of this, I still love her. I try to hate her because of what she's done, because of how low she must regard me to be able to this for the past few month, because of how stupid she must think I am to believe that everything is perfectly fine. But I can't hate her. I can never hate her. I just hate what she has done. I don't want to lose her."

Harry puts a hand on the red-head's shoulder, watching him slowly unravel. He says, "Then you need to tell her that. You guys need to come to a decision together like adults. We're no longer teenagers anymore."

His friend nods his head slowly, taking in the brunette's words. "Yes, this has gone on long enough and no one wants to take blame. But it's coming out now." He takes a deep breath. "Thanks Harry."

Harry grins at his best friend. It's sad one because he knows the what is to come. This conversation can make or break the couple, and currently it isn't looking good for either of them. But he will support them no matter what happens. He will help to cope with what is to come.**_  
_**

With the gravity of the situation, Harry pulls his friend into a hug, broom long forgotten on the floor, "Not a problem, Ron."


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: Thank you all for the views and reviews. Like I said, there will be blow ups soon and a lot of explanation of the couples' pasts. As for Hermione's behaviour, I'll clear that up in a few chapters._

_But in this chapter, Daphne comforts Pansy in her time of need._

_As always, read and review. Check out my other fics. And I do not own Harry Potter._

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The black-haired witch beside Daphne shudders holding her arms to her chest as if she would break. Daphne places a comforting arm around her friend, silently helping her to hold the pieces together.

Daphne has seen her friend cry many times over her husband. Even at Hogwarts, the blonde-haired man would crush her best friend's heart under his boot. But her friend held on, forgave him every time, and eventually she married him. She knew her friend loved her husband deeply, but it was hard to watch her best friend shatter every time.

Fat tear drops roll down her friend's face, dampening her blouse. Daphne plucks another tissue out of the box on the coffee table in front of her, offering it to her friend.

Drying her eyes for the nth time, her friend chokes out, "And he just left! Just like that. Admitted it right there. Smiling as if it was the biggest joke ever told."

Furiously, she turns to her friend, "Am I just a big joke, Daphne?"

Daphne makes shushing noises, rubbing her friend's back in small circles. Her hand brushes the tips of her friend's hair, drawing away Daphne's attention. She notices how limp and lifeless it feels and knows it not just from today's events. Her friend seemed to have given up long ago and Daphne can see the evidence of the defeat, the result of it all.

Fresh tears form, retracing the path of their predecessors. "He never cheated before, Daph. I know he didn't. He would always get upset with me, always storm away, but he never strayed. He always came back home." Her friend blows her nose into the tissue, trying to clear her head.

Resignedly, she falls back against the couch, her used tissue joining the growing pile at her feet. "I should have seen this day coming. I saw the signs but I ignored them, hoping I was seeing things, hoping I was just overthinking, hoping that they'd just go away. I thought to confront him long ago, but then we'd start fighting and I'd shy away, just to return to some sense of normalcy. I didn't want to break us. I would take the breaking if it kept us intact."

Daphne gets up for a moment to run to her friend's kitchen. This was her friend's acceptance stage every time she got upset, and now Daphne would pull out the usual soothing tea. Quickly getting the tea and heating up the water, Daphne rejoined her friend with two steaming mugs.

Her friend sips her tea silently for a moment, savouring the taste and Daphne sees her resisting a smile. She always loved green tea. Her friend pulls her head down into the mug, hiding her eyes behind her dark bangs. Quietly she murmurs, "I don't know if he's coming back."

"If he loves you, then he'll come back. If he loves you, then he'll talk it out. Even if this does end badly, you guys need to talk it out and get everything on the table. You can't run away from this problem."

Her friend spits back, "He's always been a runner Daph! I was usually the one who had to go crawling back to him after a big fight! Especially ones that were his fault." She deflates, "Now I'm gonna have to find him again, like it's all my fault he cheated on me." She sniffles, "Maybe it is my fault."

Daphne suddenly snaps, looking her friend dead in the eyes, "This is in no way your fault. Throughout all this, you have loved him from the beginning. Your attention has never wavered, not even when that cute Ravenclaw boy winked your way in 6th year. You have sacrificed yourself for him almost your entire life, but he took that for granted. This is entirely his fault. If you do talk, don't let him tell you otherwise. You know who you are and you know where you stand."

Her friend gives her a watery smile, "Daph, you always know just what to say."

They both put their mugs down and pull each other into a long, warm hug. Daphne pats her back. _**Now she just has to talk to him. Then she can begin healing.**_

Green flames appear in the fireplace across from them and the pair turn towards it, the figure not yet materialized. Her friend takes in a deep breath.

Daphne offers, "Do you want me to stay with you?"

Her friend shakes her head, "No, you go on. I need to handle this myself."

Daphne looks one more time at her friend and then to the fireplace. She pops herself out of her friend's apartment, not before hearing, "Pansy, we need to talk."


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: From the beginning, I wanted Hermione to be the hothead in my story, while everyone else is kinda subdued and sad. In this chapter, she goes up against Ginny, who's already known to be a fireball._

_There was a review about Hermione's behaviour so I wanna clear it up a little: she was crying over Draco walking out on her, but not because she feels anything for him, if that makes sense. __Her reasons will be cleared up in a future chapter._

_As always, Read, Review and I don't own Harry Potter._

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Ginny rushes around the room, repairing everything her friend has broken in her destructive tirade: glasses, vases, picture frames, bookshelves. She has ripped the clocks off the walls and slashed Ginny's light blue couch pillows. She had come here just ten minutes before and Ginny's living room was already in pieces. Ginny sighs, just following behind her, trying to unsuccessfully to contain brown tornado.

"How dare he think he can just walk away from me!?" the brown haired witch screams to the heavens. She is about to pry Ginny's prized photo of her family off the wall when Ginny finally puts a stop to the mayhem.

"Petrificus Totalus"

The brown haired witch falls to the floor with a loud thud. Ginny steps over to her and can still see the rage burning in her brown eyes. She knows where she's coming from and what she's been doing since then. The strong smell of alcohol mixed with a faint smell cigarette smoke floats above the fallen body. _**I thought she quit smoking**_. Ginny sighs again. _**This is gonna be a long one**_.

Levitating her friend over to the couch, she rights her living room to its immaculate state before removing the curse on her friend.

Instantly, the woman jumps out of the couch, turning her anger on her best friend, "Ginny, what the hell did you just do to me? I come to you for help and you curse me, you turn on me."

Ginny shouts back, "No you didn't come here for help, you just wanted someone to scream at and something to destroy. I'm sick of it. Do you how many priceless things you've damaged that I can't repair because of your manic rants? Not just this one but times before?"

Her friend bristles at her, her brown hair standing on end, "I thought friends helped friends without question. If I want someone to scream at then you should oblige and be my listening ear, 'friend'"

Ginny stands her ground, "My home will not be vandalized because your life is spinning out of your control."

Her friend lets out a light laugh, "My life is perfectly fine, Ginny. It's the rest of the world that's gone mad. First it's my disinterested husband, my disintegrating marriage and now my disappointing lover." She picks up Ginny's candy jar off the dining table, squeezing it tightly in her fingers.

"We fuck one last time and then he leaves me in the room alone, muttering about his stupid wife. I hope he rots in hell," she ends, throwing the jar forcefully against the wall.

Ginny is seeing red now, blocking out her friend's features. She looks towards the broken glass then back to her friend. "The only thing in common with all those things is you. You are the one that's a wreck. You're the one that damaged those relationships. You are the problem."

The woman picks up Ginny's napkin holder and dumps all the papers out in front of her feet before throwing the canister over her shoulder. "There's nothing wrong with me, Ginny. I'm the victim in this whole thing. I'm the one who's suffering through it all. They're the problem."

Ginny strides up her friend, grabbing her by the front of her clothes, "You've been cheating on my brother with that disgusting excuse of a man and you dare to tell me that you're the one suffering, that they are the problem."

Her friend glowers at her, her next words pouring out her mouth like ice water, "Take your hands off me, Weasley."

Ginny stays for a moment before letting her go forcibly. She sways on her feet before falling to the ground among the napkins. Ginny points down at her, "You need to get your life straight and stop blaming everyone else. Own up to your own mistakes and your own faults. You need to go and settle things with that man and with your husband."

The woman almost hisses at Ginny before standing unsteadily back onto her feet. She adopts a fighting stance and pulls out her own wand, twirling it deftly between her fingers. "Okay then, since you've been so understanding, I'm gonna deal with my problems right now, starting with the bitch who won't stop talking about shit she doesn't know."

Shock almost freezes Ginny to the spot before the incoming spell zooms towards her. She narrowly dodges the attack before ducking behind the kitchen counter. Two more sail overhead, knocking the hanging pans to the floor and blowing a hole through her kitcken cabinets. More explosions are heard from behind the counter, more walls are cracking. _**I have to end this now or my home will be ruined.**_

Ginny peers her head around the counter to see the woman among the rubble, cackling madly into the ceiling, her wild curls loose around her head. She's gone mad, her life is crumbling around her and she can't face it, she can't come to terms, she can't find release.

Ginny quickly stuns the woman before she can notice and once again, her body lays motionless on the living room floor.

Ginny just looks at the destruction that is her living room, tears streaming down her face. A huge burnt hole has appeared in the centre of the picture she tried so hard to protect during the initial rampage.

Ginny slides to the floor, trying to pull herself together. Her friend is toxic, wanting to infect others around her. Her poison is leaking into Ginny's life, spreading like the disease that is running through her own veins. Ginny knew what her friend was doing. She told Ginny about her marriage, told Ginny about her husband, told Ginny about her lover.

She told after the first time they had met at the bar, just for drinks, and how surprised she was to find him there. She told how she felt like someone understood, because Ginny couldn't understand because her relationship was great. But then it turned into something more, something that was going too far. Ginny always told her to just fess up and let everyone free, to stop this horrid love triangle. But her friend continued with it, not wanting to break off either relationship. Because breaking them would show that she had been wrong, that something was wrong with her, that she was broken inside, broken like how she broke this room.

A low buzz adds to the sound of Ginny's sobs. Ginny looks around and realizes the sound is coming from her friend's pocket. She crawls over to her friend's body, taking out the vibrating cellphone. She scans the message quickly. _**I see he wants to talk.**_

Ginny revives her friend, wondering if her time out has helped to calm her nerves. The girl sits up, rubbing her head where it slammed onto the floor. Before she can even say a word, Ginny drags her to her feet, holding the front of her clothes roughly.

"You are going to fix this now. Fix it so that everyone can get on with their lives."

She shoves her phone back into her friend's hands and spins her towards the fireplace.

"Hermione, I love you dearly but I can't take your destructive behaviour any longer. If you're gonna break hearts, break them, but don't keep stringing people along." Quickly grabbing some floo powder, Ginny throws it at her friend's feet, shouting "Granger-Weasley residence."


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: I like how this story has progressed. I would like to thank everyone who convinced me to continue writing it. In this chapter, Draco confronts Pansy and they finally talk about their marriage. I hope I did this argument properly. _

_Read and Review. Check out my other fics. And there will be another confrontation in the next chapter ;)_

_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter_

* * *

Draco almost breaks at the sight of his wife slumped in their small grey couch. Her sweats match the colour of the cushions as she tries to sink further into it and out of his sight, her short bangs hiding her eyes. He notices two mugs on the coffee table in front of her. _**I guess Daphne was here.**_

He comes near to her and sits beside on her the couch. She sits up a bit straighter, trying to mask her sorrow, but he can still see the redness on her nose and now around her eyes. She sniffles a bit but holds his gaze.

He repeats, "We need to talk about this. We've avoided it for too long now."

She sniffles again and says, "You're only saying that because I found out about your whore. If I didn't, you'd still be doing it, probably there tonight."

She reaches over to the coffee table and picks up the mug devoid of a pink lipstick print. She brings her mug to her own chapped lips before replacing it.

Draco runs his hand through his hair. He doesn't know where to start. "We've been married for three years, known each for about sixteen. We've had our rough patches before but I never meant for this to happen."

She shoves him on the shoulder and her eyes pierce him, "But you still let it happen, Draco. I'm sure you could have stopped it if you wanted to, but the fact is you didn't want to."

He freezes and looks away. He knows she is right. He didn't want to. The first night he did it, he regretted it, but it didn't stop him from doing it again. He doesn't know what to say right now.

He hears her whisper break the silence, "How long?"

He bites his lip. Saying it now would make it real. She screams impatiently, "How long!"

He lashes out, her anger infusing his own, "Five bloody months! Is that what you want to hear?"

She grabs the pink-stained mug beside her own and throws it at him, the porcelain knocking his skull and its luke-warm contents pouring over his face and onto the grey cushions.

His eyes ice over, the anger dulling the pain radiating from where the cup made contact. His gut reaction is scream back at her, to strangle her right there, but he calms himself down. He will never let his anger lead him to laying a hand on her.

She's standing now. Her chest rises and falls in large huffs, her face now red with anger, tears dried up from the heat rising from her skin. "Five months, you've been sleeping with another woman. How long were you planning on letting this go on? Have you ever brought her into this house?"

He calmly gets up, allowing her to continue her rant and get most of her rage out. He grabs a dish cloth on their dining table and sops up the liquid on his face. Her words run out of steam and she just glares at him, ready to continue shouting but first waiting for a response.

"I wasn't thinking that far ahead. And no she's never been here," he says, focusing on the dish cloth.

She lets out a small laugh and says sarcastically, "How considerate of you. At least there's some decency there. Instead, you go out to some ratty hotel and fuck her there."

She moves to grab her own mug but he walks over to her in two quick strides and clutches her wrists, holding them together. She resists.

"Just stop it and look at me!" he shouts into her face.

She stills but her breathing is still heavy. He picks up her mug and places it on the dining table before pulling her back over to the couch to sit.

"Yes, I could have stopped it, I could have stopped seeing her but I didn't. It was a release, an escape when I needed to get away from all this fighting, all this anger."

She pulls her hands away from him and her breathing turns into choking noises. Her eyes are now shining with tears, "You needed to get away from me. Even before the fighting, you always wanted to get away from me. Draco, what did I do to that was so bad, so unforgivable, that you had to find solace elsewhere? I've always been here for you, waiting for you, loving you. And you always leave me."

Draco sighs, "You did nothing wrong." He turns away from her and crouches, placing his elbows on his legs. "If I think hard enough, then I realize the problem is me."

A scoff like crushed glass comes from his left and she asks incredulously, "That's the conclusion you've come to!? After ten years and getting a mistress, you realize that you're the problem?"

He scowls and turns to her, causing her to shrink into the couch under his stare. He takes a deep breath and turns away again. His eyes dart towards the fireplace. Every past conversation about this subject has resulted in fighting and they need to stop running from it. No, he needed to face this now. **_No more running._**

"I don't deal well with difficulties. I don't like change. Most times, I feel like I don't have any control over my life. I put my guards up to protect me so I don't have to face my problems. All of our arguments start with me finding some fault with something that is faultless, something insignificant, and then blowing it up to Hagrid-sized proportions. Since even before Hogwarts, everything just angers me: my studies, my work, my parents, my life. I just get so angry all the time."

A small hand finds its way to his shoulder. "Yes, you do, love. And it hurts so much when I do everything I can to make you happy and you throw it back into my face. You need to control your anger and let others in."

He continues looking straight ahead. He can't bear to see her face now. He's never been in this situation before, never really spoke about his feelings before, but he knows seeing her will just throw him off. He needs to get this off his chest now.

"With her, I don't have to put up guards, I don't have to calculate all my actions or my words, I don't-"

The hand on his shoulder turns into a clamp. He turns to her and her eyes are shut tight, "I don't want to hear anything about her."

He spins on her, "This is exactly why I go! You want me to let you in but don't like what you'll see. You don't listen to anything I say that you just don't want to hear. You don't let me say what I want but then complain that I never say anything. It's like walking on eggshells."

She leans back but points at him menacingly, "Don't you dare pin the reason for your affair on me!"

He pushes her finger out of his face, "You're driving me away right now with your screaming and it's getting us nowhere. We're just going around in circles. I am this close to just giving up on this conversation. But this needs to be said. If I leave now, then we'll have to have this talk all over again."

She takes a shaky breath and he sighs. He continues, "I just want to be free. To do what I want without being controlled. Your controlling has just gotten worse since we've been married. I think to fix this, we need to take a step back, we need to take a br-"

She suddenly screams, "No Draco! No! You don't call the shots now. You don't get to run away this time. You've been running your whole life: from your parents, from your friends, and from me. Now you've ran right into that Mudblood's arms!"

She pushes past him and runs into their bedroom. He follows after her just in time for her to push past him again, bumping into his shoulder. Her hands are laden with two large trunks that she carries as if no heavier than a feather. _**She was packed long before I came here.**_

"I'm running away from you, Draco. Far away from here. I hope you find your freedom and your guards go down and whatever the fuck you need with her," she spits into his face.

His face pales. He never thought she'd actually leave. She was always the permanent thing his life, someone he could always count on, someone to talk to and pick up the pieces. She understood him more than anyone else. Growing up together since they were seven years old, she had been there for everything. That's why they had gotten married at 20, to be there for each other forever. He mentally slaps himself. Why couldn't he have had this epiphany months ago, even seconds ago?

He reaches out to her but only grabs air as she disappears in front of his eyes. She disappears from his life. How could he be so stupid?

Looking back now, it was all very stupid. He turned an unexpected meeting about 8 months ago, an affair 5 months in the making, into something that now destroyed his life. He gave up possibly the best thing, the best person in his life, for a woman who hardly spoke two words to him after their trysts. He traded his short, black-haired, loving wife, the woman who made sure there were three creams and two sugars in his coffee every morning, for a snarky, inconsiderate fling who only thought of him when it was convenient for her? Malfoys were supposed to be smart, smell a bad deal a mile away, but he was fooled. His emotions and carnal desires had clouded his mind and his anger had gotten the best of him again. He had made a huge mistake, one he was unsure he could fix or recover from.

He falls to his knees, still staring at the spot she was just standing. Her smell is still in the room, the faint smell of cucumbers from her shampoo. He looks at her forgotten cup on the table: green tea. Tears fall from his eyes, his guard is finally down, just like he wanted, but at what cost?

He puts his head into his hands, and chokes out, "Pansy..."

* * *

_A/N: So now we see that Draco really does love Pansy deep down but he was blinded. They had their problems and now he regrets his affair but Pansy isn't coming back._

_This contrasts a bit with the Hermione in my story. Hermione is the bad guy of my story. In all the chapters she appears in, she doesn't really care about anyone but herself: she doesn't talk to Draco, she hardly talks to Ron and she fights with Ginny. Hermione is completely selfish._


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: Thanks for reading and reviewing. I lost a lot of readers after the last chapter that I didn't expect. I'm sorry if you came here expecting a Dramione story. I had originally intended it to be one but ended up writing away from that. So if you here for Dramione, turn back now. _

_I also got some hate for writing Hermione out of character. I know she's out of character. Hermione would never act so cold to anyone or crazy but that was the role I had wanted her to play for this story._

_Lastly, I made a comment about Hermione being the 'bad guy'. I know that in an affair, both parties are at fault and they are both hurting others and themselves. But for this story, I wanted Draco to at least be remorseful and realize his faults. Hermione is the selfish one who has no remorse and does not care who she hurts in the process._

_So as I said, if this is not your cup of tea, turn back and thanks for reading. I'm sorry you didn't like it. If you are still going to read, thank you for not completely writing me off. There will be only one chapter after this one, a sort of epilogue just to finish the story._

_Read and review. Please no flames. I do not own Harry Potter._

* * *

Hermione spins the fireplace before being deposited into her living room. It is much darker now. No light shines through the open window on this cloudy night. The house is as silent as she had left it this morning. Hermione sniffs the air and wrinkles her nose at the smell of sweaty socks. She looks down and notices trails of dirt leading towards her bedroom door She can faintly see light spilling onto the hardwood floor of the hallway. _**Can he not clean up after himself? I mean he's 23 for Merlin's sake.**_ Hermione walks briskly along the trail to find her husband, eager to blow off some steam after her already rotten day.

The bedroom door is open and Hermione starts screaming without looking inside, "I can't leave you alone without you messing up the place. Do I look like a maid to you, or your mother? You better go and clean-"

She finally looks up to see her best friend and husband sitting on their bed. The dark-haired man stares at her open-mouthed but her husband looks at her with vacant eyes and a blank expression. Her own mouth is now drawn into a thin line and her train of thought is derailed. She notices his clothes and the broom laying at his feet, but she makes no mention of it. Her voice is softer now, "Oh, Harry I didn't know you were visiting."

Her best friend nods in acknowledgement. There is no need to expound on Harry's presence. But her husband inquires calmly, "How was your day, dear?"

Her face contorts into mixture of disgust and anger before she catches herself. She plasters the nicest smile on her face and walks calmly to his side. She places a hand on his forearm and says sweetly, as if she weren't just screaming a few moments ago, "It was fine. What did you do all day?"

She notices Harry's expression flickers hesitantly towards her husband. He sits there glumly, looking at her neatly polished fingers on his pale skin. He seems to be contemplating something and the silence is thick. After what seems like minutes, he slowly moves his hand away. Instead of answering her question, he asks, "Do you really care what I've been doing?"

She hates when he becomes so distant with her and now he's talking in riddles. She wants to scream at him but she feels strange with Harry as a witness. She bites her tongue and moves closer to him. She coos into his ear, "Of course I do. You're my husband."

He lets out a sarcastic laugh. "Does that change anything?"

She's not sure what to do. He doesn't normally act this way. Before she can think of a response, he says, "You reek of alcohol."

She wants to deny it but she really can't tell if its true. Her senses have been dulled to the smell. She moves to grab his hand but he pulls it out of reach. "Honey?"

"Don't 'honey' me." he says, keeping his tone level. He rises from the bed and Harry moves to hold him back but then drops his hand.

Hermione takes a step back and asks, "What is going on? Why are you acting this way?"

He takes a long breath and she can tell it's taking a lot out of him to remain calm. Then he says, "You and your boyfriend have finally broken things off."

He says with such conviction and finality it startles her. Hermione's eyebrows fly up to her head and then she raises her voice. "Boyfriend? How could you accuse me of such a thing. You know I love you. Why would I-"

He interrupts her, his piercing steer holding her in place, "Don't lie to me. Don't treat me like I'm stupid."

She can feel the anger boiling within her. All the emotions from last night and today are coming back. He continues, "You love no one but yourself. You care for no one but yourself. You feel no remorse for what you've done, for how you've broken us, for how you've hurt me."

"You don't know anything about how I feel! You don't get to say anything like that!" she screams. Her throat is still slightly sore from shouting earlier.

"I'm your husband!" he roars, losing himself in his emotions.

"Does that change anything?" she mocks while crossing her arms petulantly. She grins a bit at being able to rise him.

"What have I ever done to you that made you act like this? We could have worked it out, probably found some form of compromise. Why did you go outside our marriage when you could have talked to me?" he calmly says. She can hear the heaviness in his words but she ignores it.

She scoffs, "Talk to you? What could you say to make any situation better. You wouldn't understand me and you offer little help."

"Have you ever once come to me for anything? No, you do everything on your own, everything for your own selfish needs. Does he offer you any help since I'm so useless at it?" he spits but keeps his voice low.

She pauses. She knows her relationship was purely physical. She says, "He makes me forget about how miserable I feel, how lost and broken I am, about how everything is crashing around me."

"What could be crashing around you? You have a great job, a decent house, and good friends. You do not worry about money or anything else and you have a husband that would do anything for you if you'd only let him."

Angry tears come to her eyes and she starts throwing her arms around. "Not everything is so easy! Not everything is rainbows and butterflies. Not everything can be fixed by just throwing things at it and hoping they'll stick. The war changed me. I lost my parents, I lost my past. I lost myself somewhere along the way. There's nothing now that brings me joy. Nothing that helps me to move forward. Nothing that helps me forget about all those things."

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Harry shifting uncomfortably on the bed while trying to avoid staring at the two of them. But she already started her tantrum and she couldn't care less about his discomfort right now.

Her husband laughs, "And an affair really would help you over confiding in your friends, confiding in your husband?"

She crosses her arms, "I finally felt some form of happiness. I felt wanted and needed. I felt in control."

"Hermione, that's a horrible excuse and you know it. I try my hardest everyday to make you happy. I show you how much I want you, how much I need you."

"When's the last time you did anything remotely caring, remotely romantic? Our marriage has fizzled, the passion is gone and the love has disappeared."

"That's really what you think?" he whispers, "To me, the love is still there."

He walks up to her and grabs her two hands and holds them to his chest. "The love is still here, but obviously it's no longer in here." He moves their hands over her chest.

"I'm sorry that I wasn't enough for you. I'm sorry I didn't try harder to fix you after the war. I'm sorry for being there beside you through everything but not being worth your confidence." He drops their hands and swipes at the tears that have started flowing down her face. "I'm sorry I still love you regardless."

He moves towards the bedroom door and she screams at him, "Don't you dare leave me! Don't you dare walk out on me!" She falls to the floor onto her knees and sobs into her hands. "You're all I have left now. I need you. I need you to help me."

He turns back towards her and looks down. She can see the tears in his own eyes as well. His arms twitch and he looks as if he may run back to hold her, but his legs don't move. He looks towards a spot on their bedroom wall above her head while saying, "No you don't 'need' me. You never needed anyone."

He walks out of the room leaving her on the floor. Her sobs are loud and ugly. She hugs herself, wanting the ground to just swallow her up. How could he say he loved her and then just leave her here to cry?

There is movement on the bed as Harry comes near her. He throws an arms around her shoulder and brings her into his chest. Her sobs become more powerful as she clutches to the front of his shirt. "Harry, how could he do this to me? How could he just leave?"

Harry pushes her away at arms length, his shirt falling out of her hands. "Hermione, you're supposed to be smart but you've become blinded and self-absorbed. You never used to be this way. You used to be kind, loving and selfless." He brushes her hair with the back of her hand. "The war really has changed you. I can see the shattered pieces in your eyes right now. How could I have not seen it?"

She gets hysterical now and falls back against his chest. "Because you ditched me as well. Everyone always leaves me. Everyone always leaves me to heal on my own."

They don't understand just how much she went through. All her life, she lived for others, for her parents, her friends, Harry, but not herself. She never really had a childhood. Then the war picked up and she lost her parents, she lost friends, and she couldn't remember herself if she tried. After the war, her life got better. She never had to care about those around anymore but she had forgotten how to take care of herself. No one noticed, no one saw her falling. She was alone. She became cold and closed off. She took up drinking and smoking as a release from her loneliness and that's when she met someone else.

They had never spoken before, enemies actually, but they realized they were alike. The blonde-haired man has also lost his parents, his childhood and himself. He was also in a marriage where he felt trapped, where he wasn't really himself. They had talked a bit when they first met, mostly bitter comments about their spouses. One night they had drank too much and Hermione saw him in a different light, as an outlet. She could use him to get away. She could use him to introduce some passion and adventure in her life. She could be in control.

After the first time, where she should have felt regret, shame or guilt, she didn't. She felt excited. She found someone who brought some type of meaning to her life, however frowned upon it would be. So she continued the affair, she persuaded him to continue. She knew he was weaker than her so she always instigated her meetings, but she didn't mind. She liked the control. But now, he had gotten cold feet and he left her alone, leaving her back where she started. She takes a ragged breath. She is worse than where she started.

The soothing baritone of her friend's voice pulls her out of her thoughts. "Hermione, no matter the reason, what you did was wrong. You betrayed the trust of your husband and broke your vows. And through it all, he still loves you. You owe it to him to let him go if you really don't feel anything for him. You need to get some help, to let someone help you but don't hurt him again."

He kisses her forehead before getting off the floor. He grabs his broom that had rolled under the bed and heads for the door. She watches him with watery eyes. He stands in the doorway and holds her gaze before saying, "Do the right thing for Ron."


	11. Chapter 11

_This is the end at last. Everything should be tied up now because the chapter covers how Draco and Hermione first met, their first hookup, their feelings and mention of subsequent hookups, their official 'break up' and them seeing each other afterwards. _

_Thank you for reading until the end and I hope you enjoyed. Sorry to those who didn't. Check out my other stories and hopefully, you'll find something else you'll like. Special thanks to my reviewers, favouriters and followers. Love you guys._

_Now, I present the last chapter. I do not own Harry Potter._

* * *

The blonde haired man sits at the bar nursing his whiskey. He had sent her a message hours ago and she had yet to show. And he was not going to send another one.

He stares into the glass broodingly. Maybe he should just go home. Maybe he should try and find his wife and beg her to take him back. Maybe he should just go be alone with himself and hopefully not kill himself in the process.

He scratches his chin, stubble from not shaving since the night before is rough against the back of his hand. He must be a sight for sore eyes, very far from how he usually carried himself. But his life had taken a 180 over the course two days. He was allowed to look like crap if he wanted.

He is getting impatient. His leg taps against the foot of the barstool. His eyes scan the dwindling lobby. When he had just arrived, he observed diners and guests strolling between the restaurant, bar and the stairs to the upper floors. Now it is only him, the bartender and two older gentlemen at the bar. What a way to end this story?

He thinks back to how he got here in the first place, everything that led up to him sitting at this bar counter for hopefully the last time.

He had just had a big fight with Pansy, something to do with his parents, which was always a touchy subject. He had stormed out and come to this particular inn. He and Pansy had been here a few times to see the dinner shows they held sometimes and it was the first place he thought of.

He was sitting at this very bar, ignoring the oblivious bartender's attempt at conversation. Maybe he was bored, it was a slow night and very late but the young man couldn't care less. He just wanted to stay out long enough for him and his wife to forget his problems.

Someone slumped onto the stool on his right and he shifted away from them. He didn't want to be near anyone and he was just about to tell the person to move down to another empty stool when his eyes widened. It was the brown haired witch he used to pick on all through school, well an older version. He hadn't seen her in 5 years, since their graduation. From what he knew, she had married Weasel and was working at the Ministry.

Her head was down in her hands for a moment, she didn't seem to notice anyone around her. The young man was about to move when her head suddenly shot up and looked straight at the different liquors behind the bar. The bartender came over and she ordered her drink roughly. Her voice sounded hoarse and heavy. She barely acknowledged the server as he placed two shots on the bar counter, before knocking one back. The blonde man was surprised. He never thought she'd be one to handle her liquor so easily.

He smirked and said, "Well, well, fancy meeting you here."

She turned towards him slowly and the only sign of recognition came from the slight raise of her eyebrows before she turned to the empty shot glass. She rasped out, "I don't need this tonight." She grabbed the other shot, downing it quickly before turning in the stool.

The man wasn't sure what happened but suddenly his hand was on her wrist. She looked lazily at his hand and then his face, sizing up his intentions. "Stay a while. I won't bother you." he said unsurely. Had he scared her off already?

She gave him one more long look before turning back in the stool to the bar top. She idly played with the coasters that were scattered idly. "I guess you're wondering what someone like me would be doing here?" she asked without looking at him.

His body was turned to her and said, "Well that was my first thought, yes."

She laughed mockingly, "Just problems in my perfect life." She picked up a coaster and tossed it a few inches away down the counter. "I've never seen you here before."

He sipped his own drink and said, "First time here in a long time. Come here often?"

Now she really laughed. "That's the worst pickup line ever and if I wasn't so miserable, I'd tell you to shove it."

"Wasn't meant to be a pickup line, but I guess I have my answer."

She cleared her throat. "Sorry. I'm not in the best of moods right now."

"Me neither," he sighed into his drink.

And then they started talking. There were no names, no details, but just venting about their lives and just rotten the world was. And she helped him to forget all about his fight and his wife and everything else. It was just her and this conversation. They talked well into the night before he looked at his watch and said he had to run. He got up off the barstool and bid her goodnight. He turned away as she said, "Don't be a stranger."

Every time the man and his wife fought he would go to the bar. Sometimes he'd see the woman there and they'd talk again and complain about their marriages. Sometimes she wasn't there and those were the nights he felt alone and pathetic. It got to the point where he actually looked forward to seeing her there, to talk to someone who would listen even if they were not all there from the liquor.

Then one night, they had stayed too long and drunk too much. His mind was fuzzy and he was sure hers was too, even with her high tolerance. She got closer to him, she touched him more frequently and she laughed a bit too loud. There was a flurry of motion he still can't decipher but then they ended up in one of the rooms. Clothes were discarded, mouths moved across bodies and then they lay beside each other exhausted. He remembered the guilt he felt once the adrenaline had been spent. His wife was home, fuming or crying, and he had just fucked a woman without caring.

He turned to the woman who lay beside him to see she had drawn a cigarette from her bra. Another surprise from the ex-bookworm. He wanted to talk to her, decide what to do now, but he barely opened his mouth when she placed a finger on it. 'Not now." she said. When she finished cigarette, she said to him while dressing, 'This was just sex. Nothing else. So don't worry about it." and she left him. How could she be so relaxed about it when she herself was married as well?

The guilt from that night should have stomped out any thought of an affair at that point however it wore off after a few weeks, sped up as he and his wife continued to fight. He would go to the bar but he never saw the woman again. He almost felt like she was avoiding him. It was back to quiet brooding again.

But one day, his phone alerted him to a message. He read it and wondered how she got his number before remembering he had given her some time when they just started speaking. He replied and met up with her that night, and he couldn't blame it on alcohol this time. She had a way with words, and with her hands and mouth. It almost surprised him every time how easy he forgot who he was in that room, it was just their naked bodies and their frantic and desperate moans and gasps. The amount of guilt and regret after each time lessened the more they met up.

The affair went on for about five months and ended abruptly two days ago, leaving him waiting here at the bar where they met.

* * *

She picks herself off the floor and walks out into the living dabbing her eyes with the back of her hand. The living room light is on now but there is no one else in the house but her. She picks up a picture of her and husband but can't bring the feelings that wife should feel at this moment: regret? sadness? She just feels empty.

Her three best friends, if she even deserves to call them that, have given her a lot to think about. Maybe she is the problem, maybe she does need help, maybe she should let someone in.

She moves into the kitchen and makes herself a quick cup of tea. She needs something to calm her down and she almost makes a grab for the bottle of whiskey she keeps in the cupboard next to the oven. No, that was one of her problems. She relied too much on things to make her forget, to avoid fixing the problems.

She sits at the dining table, staring over her steaming cup at the front door and the floo. She expects any moment for someone to come through: her husband - because he loves her, he'll come and check on her, her best friend - because he always cared about her and trusts her to do the right thing, her girlfriend - because she just broke one heart like she said but still doesn't feel any better. No one comes through though and it leaves her alone with her thoughts.

She had frequented that hotel bar many times before she first saw her lover there. The first time had been some time right after the battle and she was definitely a novice at drinking then. The alcohol however had cleared her mind and she realized its merit in keeping the negative thoughts away. She became addicted and reliant and always went back to that bar when she was overwhelmed with her life. She had almost poisoned herself the night she lost her parents if the bartender hadn't refused her then called her husband to take her home. Her husband attempted to comfort her but he couldn't do what the alcohol did and she pushed him away. She was more cautious afterwards but the bar was never too far for her to get her fix. The cigarettes started after the alcohol was slowly losing its effect, though she used those much less. The smell that lingered was harder to get rid of than just avoiding someone after her drinking.

When she had seen the young blonde there, she had just come from a family dinner at the Burrow. Her mother-in-law and her husband's huge family were nice, warm and cheery as usual, nothing like how she felt on the inside. Instead of joining in with the joy and company of each other, her mood turned sour. By the end of the night, everyone knew that something was bothering her but they knew she was not one to talk about her feelings, and she was not one to tell her husband. As soon as she was sure her husband had retired for the night, she went back to her bar.

The young blonde looked at her in surprise but she hardly cared. She had just wanted to drink alone and was about to leave when it seemed she wouldn't be getting that, but he grabbed her arm and pulled her back. They just spoke and she surprised herself by sharing anything with him in, even if it were just how upset she was (but not what about).

She realized how bad alcohol could be when she first slept with him. She never intended to make their relationship sexual at the time and she just wanted to forget about it. She avoided the bar knowing that he would want to dissect what happened. But without the bar, she got even more irritable, barking at everyone around her. No one liked being around her, her odd good moods not enough to make up for her perpetual misery. She hid her own whiskey bottles around the house and got drunk alone in the wee hours of the night.

During one of her quiet alcohol-fuelled meditations, she had the bright idea that instead of hiding from the blonde man, she could use him instead. Her sex life lacked passion and they hardly had any. She had blamed this on her husband and his inconsiderate and uncaring nature. She didn't realize that only she thought of him that way and was the one causing her own problems. An affair had an allure of forbidden and dangerous and it had the possibility of being an even better distraction from the alcohol. One message later, it was confirmed. It gave her life some excitement and control which she felt she lacked for so long. So she continued the affair and pretended everything was fine. But then it crashed two days ago, and she had spiralled into her friend's living room and her own bedroom, hurting those in the fallout, those who had only wanted to help from the very beginning.

At the end of her tea, she makes up her mind. She will make herself better. She will start over and she will get help, professional help if necessary. And she will start to care again. She grabs up her cloak and turns on the spot. She has to make things right first.

* * *

She appears in the alley around the back of the hotel. Based on his message, he has probably been here awhile and she hopes he isn't too upset with her tardiness.

She sees him at the bar and she takes the stool beside him before he looks up from his glass. His face is neither angry or happy, just blank. Hopefully, he hasn't drank too much waiting for her.

"You're here." he says gruffly, tipping his glass at her in greeting.

"Yes. We need to talk," she gets straight to the point.

He nods and looks back down at the glass, allowing her to continue. "A lot has happened since I last saw you. We have to end... whatever was going on between us. A lot of people got hurt because of it."

He nods again but remains quiet. She feels like smacking him but knows that would help nothing. She knows that this affair was more damaging to him that her. His marriage had been stronger than hers and from their initial conversations, he was not as broken as she was before they met. So she just sits and waits, idly playing with a cup of small straws on the counter.

She notices out of the corner of her eye the slight movement of his hands. He reaches over and lightly touches her fingers. She gives him a small, encouraging smile before taking his hand in hers. "I'm sorry if this ruined your marriage. I wasn't really thinking of how it was hurting anyone. I was being bloody selfish to be honest."

He finally speaks but looks fixedly at their hands, "I could have stopped it at any time if I wanted, so I was also being selfish too. But right now, my marriage is broken. She says she isn't coming back." He turns his head away from her.

She speaks softly, "I can tell you really care about her deep down and I got in the way of that. You should find her and talk to her. Don't let her go without a fight."

He nods then turns to look straight into her eyes. The emotion in his stare causes her to shrink away. She pulls her hand from his and places it in her lap. He asks, "How's yours?"

She says quietly, "I have a lot to do before I can even think of repairing it, if there's even anything to repair."

He grabs her hand from her lap and runs his thumb over her knuckles, "We haven't spoken like this since we first met, and it took us being almost shattered to do it." He laughs but it's obvious the joke is not funny.

He sighs and then gets up from the barstool. "Goodbye, Hermione," he says with finality.

She knows this is it and she shakes his hand before he lets go. "Goodbye, Draco," and watches him walk away

* * *

She sits at the bar again, nursing an ice tea with lime. Three years sober to the day and she thought she would celebrate. She stares about the hotel lobby and remembers just how often she used to come here. She wishes that part of her life never happened but all she can do now is move away from it and be better everyday.

A crowd is milling around the entrance to the large dining room. A dinner show will be happening in the next hour and she wonders if she should treat herself to one as well. She had no other plans tonight.

Someone takes the barstool on her left and she turns to the newcomer. His grin is wide and he relaxes with his back to the bartop, propped up on an elbow. Time has made him more handsome and he has kept himself fit and healthy. His blonde hair is nicely coiffed, not long and shaggy as she remembers, and his face is smooth as silk. He is dressed in a classy grey suit but seems so casual and at ease beside her.

"Draco," she greets with a smile to match his own as she leans across to throw her arms around his neck. She gives him a kiss on the cheek, careful not to leave a lipstick mark. "How have you been? It's been awhile."

He chuckles, "It sure has. I've been fine. Been out and about. Travelling. And I started to manage one of my father's smaller companies. You?"

She tips her glass to him. "Good really. Celebrating a milestone today actually. Three years sober."

He places a warm hand on her shoulder. "That's great, Hermione." He moves his hand a bit higher and pulls playfully on the ends of her hair with a question in his eyes.

She giggles and shakes her head side-to-side, letting her short curls swish above her shoulders and his fingers, "I needed a change after... you know."

He nods solemnly and then in a low tone asks, "What happened to you after we last spoke?"

Her smile falls but she tries not to be sad. It's her special day and she knows he doesn't mean anything by it. "I tried to patch things up with Ron, but we realized that we just didn't click any more. My divorce was finalized within 3 months of that. We're still friends though so not everything's lost, but he recently got remarried so we don't talk as much. I started going to therapy for my addictions and my issues and made great improvements. So I'm happy for now but I've found no one to put up with me."

She turns to him. She can't help the hopeful feeling that blossomed in her chest, even though she knows how stupid it is. She just met him again and already she is thinking that he might want her. They never had that kind of relationship before but this feeling is telling her that it could be possible. Maybe he could be the one to put up with her.

He rubs her shoulder and says, "I wouldn't worry too much. You're a bombshell and too smart for your own good. I'm positive you'll find someone."

The hopeful feeling pushes her to say, "Well, maybe I've already-"

"Draco!" a woman's voice calls from across the lobby. The brown-haired witch turns her head towards the woman. Long black hair falls over her shoulder as she balances a toddler on her opposing hip. She walks over to them, "Draco, the show is about to begin in-"

The woman stops short before them when she recognizes the girl sitting with her husband. She moves to turn her the young boy's face away from the man and woman. "Hello," she says icily and the blonde haired man quickly takes his hand off the brown-haired witch's shoulder.

The man rises from the barstool and moves over to his wife and gives the boy a kiss on the forehead. He drapes his hand over his wife's shoulder before saying, "This is my wife, Pansy, and my son, Scorpius."

The girl at the bar is stunned and deflated. His wife and now a son. The hopeful feeling is crushed with one of self-ridicule. She could laugh at just how ridiculous her thoughts were and how foolish she had been. She smiles politely at the man's wife and offers a hand.

His wife just stares at it, as if it might infect her and her son. She looks away from the hand and into her husband's eyes. She whispers loudly, "I'll be inside the dining room," and then walks away.

The man scratches the back of his neck, unsure of what to say, but the brown-haired witch puts out a hand to stop him. "I should have known. It's not your fault."

She places her now finished ice tea on the bartop before hopping off her stool. She embraces the man one last time before saying, "It was nice seeing you again, Draco."

He held her at arms length and said, "I know we didn't have the best relationship, and my wife isn't very friendly towards you, but don't be a stranger."

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small card. Placing it in her palm, he steps back and says, "Goodnight, Hermione."

"Goodnight, Draco."


End file.
